


Dust Mites

by Jori (likebunnies), mojober



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Cliche, F/M, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Hotel Sex, Partners to Lovers, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-12 23:40:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3359597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likebunnies/pseuds/Jori, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mojober/pseuds/mojober
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hot night. Adjoining rooms. A missing key. A rain storm. A leaky roof. One bed. Ahh... the simple pleasures of motel fic cliches. </p>
<p>First posted on ATXC on March 1, 2000.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dust Mites

[ ](http://s723.photobucket.com/user/like_bunnies/media/dustmites_zpsxjajzzi2.jpg.html)

Title: Dust Mites  
Authors: Jori and MoJo  
Rating: Mature  
Disclaimer: Not ours. They belong to CC, 1013 and FOX  
Summary: A hot night. Adjoining rooms. A missing key. A rain storm. A leaky roof. One bed. Ahh.... the simple pleasures of motel fic cliches.  
Authors' Notes: Inspired for our love of fonts and cheap, sleazy motel fic, 'Dust Mites' can be found at http://www.dafont.com/dust-mites.font and probably any Motel 6. 

Originally posted to alt.tv.x-files.creative on March 1, 2000 because we are just that old. 

************

Gulfport, Mississippi  
2:35 a.m.

Shit.

Where is it?

I put it in my pocket. I know I did. I try to catch my breath as I pat  
down my pockets one more time. These are running shorts, for  
chrissakes. If I can't find the key by now, it isn't there. I squat  
down, trying to catch my breath, as I consider my next move.

The humid early morning air is infused with the smell of the Gulf and  
of shrimp. And of me. Hopped up after yesterday's discovery, I couldn't  
sleep so instead I ran seven miles. Upon my return, I discovered I  
lost my key somewhere during those miles. Well, technically, since I  
ran the same path there and back, the key could be somewhere in those  
three and a half miles.

I bang on the window to the front office and shake the door. The 'No  
Vacancy - We're Closed' sign rattles on the other side of the glass  
but no one comes to my aid. Obviously, the '24 hour On-Site  
Management' promised by this lovely establishment in crooked,  
painted-on letters didn't really mean this hour. Maybe they meant another  
24-hour time span.

Suddenly, rain begins to beat its way across the parking lot, racing  
toward me faster than I can get to where the awning will offer minimal  
protection. Now I'm not only dripping in sweat, but I'm also soaked  
with warm rain. At least it kills the fragrance of me a bit.

Leaning back against the glass, trying to stay dry, I know what I must  
do. I have only one option now and it isn't a good one. I have to wake Scully.

Scully, my partner who didn't say more than five words to me  
after we left the Gulfport Police Headquarters. Scully, who spent the  
better part of the week in the Midwest looking at cattle mutilations  
with me and who performed two autopsies at my request just this  
morning even though the county had a perfectly good pathologist who  
could do them. Scully, who jumped on a plane with me late this  
afternoon and listened to my “theory” on the latest deaths  
occurring up and down this region of the Gulf Coast just long enough  
for her to rip it apart so wide the Mississippi could flow into it and  
get lost.

Now I have to bang on her door and tell her I lost my key and could  
she let me pick the lock to the adjoining door. Well, at least that  
was lucky. We never get adjoining rooms. I don't think we necessarily  
want to be that close after a day of 'togetherness.' Especially if  
that day includes obese dead men with farmer tans.

Well, I'm one lucky man tonight. Her light is still on. She's probably  
banging away on her laptop, finishing some report and trying hard to  
explain what business the FBI would have with six mutilated Guernseys.

I rap softly at her door and call her name. "Scully?"

No answer. Pressing my ear against the door, I can't even hear a heavy  
sigh of disgust. Maybe she fell asleep and I'm going to be stuck out  
here for the night. Well, I do have another option...

The door swings open in front of me and I almost lose my balance and  
crash in. I catch myself on the door frame and the look on her face  
shows not one glimmer of amusement. Actually, that normally expressive  
face shows nothing but contempt.

"What do you need?" she asks, holding the door stationary so I can't  
see in easily.

"Did I wake you?" I ask, peering easily over her shoulder. Her laptop  
is on the bed, the blue glow cast from its screen reflecting off the  
peeling beige wallpaper attempting to cover the walls.

"No, I was just finishing up. What do you need?" she asks again,  
crossing her arms and bracing the door with her foot.

"I, uh, lost my key while I was jogging..."

"Why don't you get another one at the office?" she asks as if I hadn't  
thought of that novel idea myself.

"The office is closed. I banged on their door for half an hour," I  
lie. I lean casually up against the door frame, waiting for her to  
invite me in.

"Did you go back and retrace your steps? Maybe you could find it..."

"Scully, I just ran for over seven miles and now you want me to do it  
again to find a key?" I ask and I can tell she really wants to nod  
her head 'yes.'

Instead, she rubs her temples while she tries to figure out how to get  
me out of her doorway and into my room.

"You can't break in?" she asks, looking down at the lock and realizing  
that would be harder than it sounds with what I have on me. "Or you  
can try my key. Maybe they are the same -- like luggage keys."

"Scully, give me the keys to the car and I'll go get the lock pick and  
get to my room through yours," I say. I bounce in place, my muscles  
still burning from my run. It is hot out tonight, even with the rain,  
and all I want to do now is take a shower and go to bed.

"I'd love to, Mulder, but you have our only keys and if you don't have  
them on you... well, I don't know what to tell you," she says,  
looking me over. All I'm wearing is a pair of running shorts, my shoes  
and a soaked t-shirt. There would be nowhere for me to keep the keys.

"Fine. Well, goodnight, Scully. I'll see you tomorrow. Flight's at  
ten, right?" I ask as I begin to walk away. Damn. Now I have to resort  
to desperate measures.

"Where are you going to go?" she calls after me as I begin to step out  
into the rain. I stop and think for a moment about my answer. I even  
go as far as to bite my bottom lip while formulating my plan. I hate  
having to do that.

"I think Detective Cullen lives just about a mile from here. I'll just jog  
over there..."

"You can stay on the couch in my room," she says a little too quickly  
and I smile. "Until we can figure out how to get you back into your  
room."

"What? You don't like Detective Tessa Cullen?" I ask, putting on the  
smuggest look I have. I begin to walk slowly toward her and out of the  
rain, my hands on my hips.

I'm sure Scully loves Tessa Cullen. The Gulfport detective just about  
drooled every time we were in the same room together today. Even  
invited 'us' out to dinner, but looked at Scully with the stink eye.  
Scully turned her down for both of us and we went on our way. She  
called me in my room earlier tonight, letting me know that if I needed  
anything, she lived on some street with the word Gulf in it and to  
drop by anytime.

"Detective Cullen is a very competent peace officer. It's just late  
and I wouldn't want you to disturb her at this hour. She has to work  
in the morning, you know," Scully says, as I lean against her door  
frame again.

"I'm sure she won't mind," I say. I reach out and touch her arm  
briefly, but she pulls back enough to break the contact.

"But what would you wear for pajamas?" she asks and I answer her with  
only a grin. I'm familiar enough with Tessa's type to know that I  
could jog over there, get my rocks off and jog back here. But that  
isn't what I want.

"Come on, Scully. I'll sleep on the little couch. I'm used to it. You  
won't even know I'm here," I say as she finally lets me by and into  
her room. I look at the loveseat and shrug. "I think it pulls out. Is  
it hot in here or is that just me?"

The room is just as crappy as any other motel we've ever been in. This  
one comes with a double bed and a couch that is supposed to turn into  
what I'm sure is a very uncomfortable and lumpy bed. We also never  
have much luck with temperature control in any of our rooms.

"No, it isn't just you. The air conditioner died about two hours ago  
and I called the office but no one answered. What *are* you going to  
sleep in?" she asks, looking at my sweat and rain soaked shorts as  
they cling to my body.

"I'll take a shower, sleep in this. It's late. I don't care," I say,  
heading toward the bathroom.

"After an afternoon of chasing pirate ghosts, I guess even *you* would  
be tired," she mumbles under her breath, but I catch it.

Then the last thing I hear as I shut the bathroom door is a that heavy  
sigh of disgust.

************

Shit.

Now my room smells like the Gulf, shrimp and sweaty Mulder. I follow  
the trail of wet footprints across the brown shag carpeting to the  
bathroom door. Inside, Mulder is banging around as the pipes squeak  
their protest at being violated once again this evening.

"I probably used all the hot water earlier," I yell out. "I don't know  
how much you're going to get tonight."

"Don't worry, Scully. I'm getting some," Mulder yells back in such a  
tone that I know he isn't just talking about hot water.

I sit back down on the bed, slam my laptop closed and toss it on the  
nightstand in disgust. I wasn't really getting anywhere on my report  
anyway. Not even *I* can explain six vivisected bovines, two dead  
farmers and a 'pirate ghost.' I'm sure Skinner is going to get a good  
laugh at what I've got so far, I know it amuses the hell out of me.

And who do I have to thank for this? Mulder, who kept carrying on  
incessantly about obese farmers and Guernseys all the way from the  
Gulfport Police Headquarters to this godforsaken dump. Mulder, who  
dragged me out to the Midwest to ogle cattle mutilations with him then  
made me performed two autopsies at his request first thing this  
morning despite the fact this county had their own resident  
pathologist who could have gotten his ass out of bed instead of me.  
Mulder, who dragged me on a plane cramped beside him in coach this  
afternoon and proceeded to give me a dissertation on the latest deaths  
to which I had plenty to say.

Now he shows up at 2:35 in the morning, banging on my door with some  
stupid story about losing his key and can he pick the lock on the  
adjoining door and wouldn't it be terrible if he has to run all the  
way over in the rain to Detective Cullen's so she can fuck him as payment  
for her hospitality. I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction.

I hear another squeak in the direction of the bathroom, only this time  
it's the door. It's too small for the frame and it doesn't close  
right. It's opening on its own. The room starts to fill with steam,  
making it even more unbearably hot. All I've got on is my underwear  
and terrycloth robe and now I can't change into anything else until he  
gets out of the bathroom. What's taking him so long, anyway?

My eyes drift up to the ever-widening crack of the door. Behind the  
frosted glass shower stall, I can make out Mulder's tall form. And  
he's using my pleasure puff to lather up his body with the  
complimentary Ivory soap. Now I'm really pissed. Is nothing sacred to  
him?

I get up to close the door discreetly, but then he turns around.  
Giving me an albeit fuzzy view of his naked ass. I stop momentarily as  
I see one hand slip between his legs. I hope he's not doing what I  
think he's doing in my shower. And he better not be thinking about  
Detective Cullen while he's doing it either. I slam the door shut angrily.

"Scully?" Mulder asks, obviously alarmed by the sound.

"The door, Mulder," I answer loudly, obviously irritated. "It doesn't  
close right."

I sit back down in the center of bed cross-legged. I reach for the  
worn copy of "Explore Mississippi" magazine on the other nightstand  
and throw it open to any page so it looks like I'm paying attention to  
anything else besides Mulder. He's not the goddamn center of the  
universe anyway, despite what he thinks. I don't care that he's here.  
I don't care that he's naked. I don't care he's going to be sleeping  
just ten feet from me.

"Reading up on the Pirate's Ghost?" he asks and I look up.

Mulder walks towards me, clad only in wet jogging shorts and a towel  
that he's rubbing vigorously over his head. The shorts cling to his  
semi-erect member.

"That's what you're reading, isn't it?" he continues, as he comes a  
little closer. He casually throws the towel over one shoulder, leaving  
his hair spiking up in all directions.

My eyes snap downwards and sure enough, I'm on a page entitled 'Local  
Legends.'

Mulder crawls across the bed on his stomach to meet me in the middle,  
reclining beside me and dripping water over the bedspread. He smells  
like Ivory soap and his own musky, Mulder scent.

"Horn Island Lighthouse," he reads, lips turning up at the word  
'horn.' "Did you read that one yet?"

"No," I answer, scanning the page for something--anything that's proof  
I was actually reading this article. I point down at the second  
paragraph. "I'm still enthralled with the Legend of Chaffi and  
Tuculo."

He gets nice and comfortable beside me, like we're at some  
prepubescent slumber party. "The former station was washed away and  
the keeper, his wife and their daughter drowned. Fishermen hold that  
this light is an unlucky place and rarely pass within hailing distance  
of it."

I roll my eyes.

"Don't like that one?" he asks, eyes all lit up with bemusement at my  
frustration. He rotates his hips and gets even more comfortable.  
"Here's the one I was referring to. The Pirate House."

"Do enlighten me," I say, forcing my mind to stare at the glossy  
spread and not the spread of his buttocks beneath his wet shorts.

"After she turned off the living room light and started up the  
staircase, Mrs. James W. Falkner screamed. Standing at the top of the  
stairs was a death-like image of a man who's stare was almost  
hypnotic. When Mrs. Falkner moved towards, him vanished into  
nothingness," Mulder reads. He brushes my knee with his fingers.  
"Getting scared yet, Scully?"

"Oh, I'm just shivering with anticipation," I answer sarcastically.

"Blood stained walls, unexplained moans, screams and ghostly  
apparitions had long been a part of the Pirate House mystique," he  
continues eagerly. "The 1930s incident was one of the many incidents  
stretching over..."

Does he really think I care about this stuff after all that's happened  
today? What I really want to do is climb into bed. Just because he  
doesn't sleep doesn't mean the rest of us don't need to. Outside, the  
storm is getting louder and louder as the rain pelts against windows.  
At least it's muffling the sound of the couple next door having sex.  
Or maybe they're just resting before starting up again. That's all I  
need to be trapped in this room with Mulder to the sounds of "yes,  
Larry" and "give it to me, Larry" all night. Although, Mulder will  
probably love it since he doesn't have to pay $4.99 a minute for it.

"The large house reportedly was built in 1802 by a New Orleans  
businessman who moonlighted as a pirate and financial agent for Jean  
Lafitte and his Barataria pirates. Some accounts say the house  
actually belonged to Lafitte. A tunnel ran from the water's edge to  
the house's basement, which some believed doubled as a holding place  
for 'black ivory" or illegally smuggled slaves..."

I'm not shivering with anticipation. I lied. I'm sweating. It's so  
damn humid and hot in this room now thanks to his shower. I reach up  
and wipe the sweat off my neck and clavicles, then snake my hand  
beneath my robe and rub the muscles in my neck. The knot  
keeps getting tighter and tighter the longer Mulder keeps reading.  
Doesn't he know what he's doing to me? Doesn't he care how tense I am?  
Can't he just shut up and let me get some sleep?

"In the mid 1930s when the Singreens bought the house, a family  
photograph was snapped of everyone standing on the front gallery  
steps. When it was developed, an image of a man in shirt sleeves could  
be seen at the window of an upstairs room..." Mulder stops and rolls  
over on his side, head propped up on his elbow as he stares at me  
intensely. "Scully? What's wrong?"

"My neck hurts," I say, continuing to knead it with my fingers to no  
avail. "Two autopsies on dead obese farmers did me in."

"Sorry," he mutters, scrambling into an upright position. Before I  
know it, Mulder is sitting behind me, his warm body pressed up against  
my back. "Here, let me. It's the least I can do."

Before I can cite some FBI code of conduct, his hands slip the back of  
my robe down and settle on my skin. I close my eyes, soaking in the  
touch of his fingers as he starts to massage the trapezius muscles of  
my neck. Involuntarily, a tiny moan escapes my parted lips.

"You're tight," Mulder whispers, as his warm breath skims across the  
nape of my neck.

"Just a little," I say, raising an eyebrow at the other connotation to  
his words. His thumbs dig into my aching muscles and work the knots  
out in small circles, releasing tension with every revolution. So  
Mulder is good for something after all. Very good, actually.

"Lower? Higher?" he asks in a hushed whisper. Outside, the thunder is  
clapping louder and louder as the flashes of lighting rip across the  
sky. One-one thousand. Two-one thousand. Three one-thousand. Crash.  
The storm must be almost on top of us now.

"Lower," I reply, wetting my lips. I arch my back against his hands  
and lean into his touch. I feel the robe shift a little farther down  
my body as he starts on my rhomboideus muscles. The bra strap hinders  
him across my back, but he maneuvers around it skillfully. I bet he  
could snap it off in one motion if he really wanted to.

"Jesus Christ, Scully. You let six dead cows upset you this much?" he  
muses, holding onto one of my shoulders for leverage as he makes a  
fist and twists into another knot with his other hand.

"No, I let you upset me this much," I say, looking over my shoulder at  
him. He's smiling like the cat that ate the canary.

"Do I really make you this tense?" he asks slyly. He leans into my  
body and whispers, "God knows what else I do that you're not sharing."

One one-thousand. Two-one thousand. Crash.

At that comment, a rush of heat and moisture flows to my nether  
regions. Damn it. Damn him. Damn it. He knows exactly what he's doing.

"Mulder, that's enough," I say sharply, flustered and frustrated at my  
body's reaction. I'm not going to be some substitute for Detective Cullen,  
damn it. I adjust my robe back up my shoulders and scoot forward away  
from him. The magazine goes flying off the bed and onto the floor.  
"It's almost 3:00 a.m. and I have to get some sleep."

I get up angrily and grab one of the flat, dingy pillows and tuck it  
under my arm. With both hands, I take hold of the bedspread and start  
yanking, forcing Mulder to roll off my bed so I can strip it off.

"Scully?" he asks cautiously. Before he can get another word in, I  
hand him the pillow and shove the bedspread into his arms. I don't want to  
be sleeping under that nasty thing anyway. It is probably full of dust  
mites.

"You can have the bedspread, Mulder," I say, turning down what's left  
of the bedding for myself. He stands there like a dog that's been kicked out  
for the night. All sad and confused with his hazel eyes staring back  
at me pleading to be let back in.

"I don't want it," he protests, looking down at it. "It smells musty."

"Want me to get some luminol so you can see what's really on  
it?" I threaten, seeing him shake his head.

"You can spare me," Mulder mutters, heading for the couch. He drops  
the bedspread and the pillow and starts to pull the cushions off. He  
groans. "It's not a sleeper-sofa. Could this night get any worse?"

One-one thousand. Crash.

The light flicker quickly before the power goes off.

"You had to go and say that, Mulder," I say, narrowing my eyes at him.

*************

Shit.

I can't tell what is louder. The many bursts of thunderclaps or the  
many bursts of Joan next door. Larry has gotten more in the last half  
hour than I've gotten in the past decade. Scully feigns sleep, trying  
to keep her breathing rate as modulated as she can, but occasionally  
she slips. Like when Larry cried out 'ride me, big momma!' a few  
minutes ago, I definitely heard Scully gasp.

Besides all the noise, this bedspread is making me itch. It also  
probably has enough 'evidence' on it that if we did have some luminol,  
it would light up like the sky on the Fourth of July. This could be a  
good thing considering our lack of power right at the moment.

I'm not sure why I need this musty blanket anyway. After having the  
opportunity to give Scully that impromptu back rub, it has got to be  
at least 103 degrees in here. Then the thought of touching her soft,  
warm skin combined with the even, rhythmic sounds of the neighbor's  
headboard banging against the wall... the rain pounding against the  
window... and Scully's soft breathing remind me why I have this  
blanket over me. Down, li'l partner. No sense getting ready for a  
party you are never going to be invited to attend.

And what really pisses me off about this whole thing is the fact that  
the only channel that came in clearly was some pirated satellite porn  
channel and now without electricity, I can't even turn it on. Not that  
I would do that with Scully in the room, but now I couldn't even if I  
wanted to. I could have turned the volume off and pretended the couple  
on the screen was Joan and Larry. After years of watching that crap,  
you've got to try new and unusual things.

I try to roll over in a desperate attempt to give my knees someplace  
to go but I fail. Now I'm just wedged into this crappy little couch  
tighter than I was before. It smells like someone's dog spent a week  
sleeping on it and I'm sure if the lights would come back on, I'd be  
able to see the bristly little hairs of some sort of a terrier. It  
smells like a terrier.

Shuffling around again, I manage to free my ass from the crack between  
the cushions and get my elbow into a more comfortable spot. Too bad my  
neck is now wedged in tight. I should have jogged over to Detective  
Cullen's. I could be in her bed by now, nicely stretched out and I'm  
sure quite erect. Not crammed into what is most certainly a loveseat  
without the love.

"Mulder, stop fidgeting," Scully calls out into the dark, sounding  
like an irate mother talking to an hyperactive child at a portrait  
studio.

"I'm sorry, but the last time I checked I was six feet tall and this  
couch is maybe five feet long, leaving 12 inches of me with no where  
to go," I say, hearing her breath catch at my statement. She says  
nothing for at least two whole thunder claps and about ten 'Do me  
faster, Joans.'

"Can't you... I don't know... put your legs over the arm of the  
couch or something? Mulder, I've got to get some sleep. I've been up  
for nearly 24 hours now. My whole body aches with... I'm not even  
sure with what and I just want to go to sleep," she rattles off before  
I hear her pat her pillow and put her head back down.

I try my best contortionist moves again, but this time I nearly fall  
off as I twist around, catching myself before I hit the floor.

"I'm out of here," I say, standing up and heading toward the door.  
Detective Tessa Cullen on 8243 Gulfview Drive. It can't be that hard to find even  
in the pouring rain and it would be better than listening to Scully  
complain about my inability to get comfortable on that flea-ridden  
piece of furniture.

I grab my shoes and unlock the door just in time to see the  
transformer on the utility pole a few yards from the motel get struck  
by lightning. It pops and flares and sends little sparks everywhere,  
lighting up the room. Well, on second thought, curling up on the  
little couch would be better than death so I close the door again. I  
part the curtains a little to let whatever bit of light there is out  
there in here so I can at least see my misery.

With the transformer still flaring outside, I turn around in time to  
see Scully climb out of bed, her robe parting briefly and showing me  
the most wonderful view of her toned thighs and abdomen. She has on  
just a pair of plain cotton underwear but somehow they are the sexiest  
things I've seen... since the last time I've seen her in her  
underwear.

"Mulder, you take the bed. I'll sleep on the couch," she says, quickly  
yanking her robe shut. She looks at the couch and starts messing with  
the bedspread and pillow like a mother bird making a nest.

"Listen, Scully... we are both adults. I'm sure we can share the  
same bed without the world coming to an end," I say, sitting on the  
edge of the double bed. The cheap mattress sinks from my weight and I  
know what will happen if we both get into this bed together. To  
prevent ourselves from rolling into the center and 'accidentally'  
brushing up against each other, we will both spend the night clinging  
to our own side like drowning men clinging to a life raft. "I promise  
I won't come anywhere near you."

"Yeah, like I haven't heard that before," she mutters under her breath  
as she fluffs the pillow.

"You have?"

"A million times over," she says but never tells me where.

"It will be okay," I say in my best 'oblige me' tone as I pat the  
other side of the bed. I can almost hear her brain kick into overdrive  
as she begins to formulate excuses for sleeping on the couch. "I'll  
keep you safe from the pirate ghost."

"Mulder, there is no pirate ghost," she says with an exasperated sigh.  
She sits down next to me on the edge of the bed and we both almost  
slide off and hit the floor. The floor would probably be better to  
sleep on than this sad excuse for bedding. Then again, there's a good  
chance that the floor also smells like terrier.

"There are plenty of pirate legends in this country. From the Florida  
Keys and all up and down the Gulf coast... damn it, don't they ever  
stop?" I ask as I scoot up the bed and rest against the headboard. I  
can feel the vibrations coming through the wall from the other room.

Scully doesn't move but rather, she remains at the foot of the bed.

The sound of thunder reverberates through the room just as Joan  
'finishes' next door, both competing with the other to be heard. Over  
the many years we've traveled, I've listened to many people screw  
their brains out while I sat alone, but this is the first time I got  
to listen to it with Scully and it isn't quite as 'pleasurable.'

"What were you saying about pirate ghosts and legends?" Scully asks,  
trying to talk a little louder than Larry next door. She moves up the  
bed so she is sitting next to me and holds a pillow to her chest.  
Larry is still not done but is presently engaged in crying out 'Right  
there, baby' every few seconds.

"Lafitte isn't the only pirate legend of the Gulf... there... are...  
several... in... the... Keys..." I try to say but the wall keeps getting knocked  
between every word. She must be on the headboard and he's pounding into her.

We are both silent, waiting for Larry's big finale. Joan seems to be  
back into it now and they are talking so fast that it almost sounds  
like someone calling a horse race. I wonder if they have even noticed  
that the electricity went off?

Finally, the wall suffers one hell of a big bang as Larry cries to  
heaven, hell and any place he can think of about how good this is  
before he shuts up.

"I don't remember it ever being *that* good," Scully says with a  
sarcastic tone in her voice.

"Maybe you just weren't with the right person," I say without  
thinking. Even in darkness, I know she turns her head toward me and  
judging from the squeak her neck made doing it, she's pissed. That's  
okay. I've apparently done nothing but piss her off for a few days  
now. What's one more time going to do?

"And who exactly would be the right person... Mulder?" she asks and  
I know I'm in for it.

I can play this a few different ways. The easiest way would be for me  
to pretend I'm suffering from narcolepsy and fall asleep right now. Or  
I can answer honestly and see how she deals with it.

Turning to look at her, a well-timed flash of lightning illuminates  
her very pissed off expression. She looks like something straight from  
some horror movie. Luckily, the room falls into darkness and I don't  
have to see that stare for long.

"I... well... I think the right person would be... me... I  
think," I say, my voice stuttering as I go.

"Oh, you do, do you?" she says and I am unable to tell what she is  
thinking by the tone of her voice.

"Yes, I do," I say and a clap of thunder rolls through the room.

************

Shit.

I don't need any lights to know what expression he is wearing. It's  
the same one I've been looking at all day during the dead cows, dead  
farmers and dead pirates. The look of utter conviction. He honestly  
believes he *is* the right person. Besides, I can hear it in his  
voice, too. The soft stuttering that's a tell-tale sign that wasn't  
some off-handed quip or snappy repartee. It throws me so completely  
off-balance that I nearly slip off the mattress and onto the shag  
carpet.

Which only makes me more angry at him. How the hell am I supposed to  
sleep after that comment? I'll be up all night thinking about it now.  
I need Dimenhydrinate or Gravol or even Tylenol PM. Sleep is a  
biological state that is caused by the discharge of specific neurons  
in certain parts of the brain. Normal low cycles, the circadian rhythm  
lows, occur between 2 a.m. And 6 a.m. when sleep is absolutely necessary for  
both physical and mental health. A glance at the decrepit analog clock tells me it's  
3:25 a.m. I've been up for over 24 hours and my mind is beginning to  
hallucinate doing the wild thing with Mulder and giving Larry and Joan  
a run for their money. But I'm onto him now. I narrow my eyes at his  
supine form, reclining ever so invitingly against the headboard.

"Sleep deprivation," I say accusingly, wise to his cunning plan. I  
toss the pillow aside and get on all fours, crawling across the bed as  
I stalk Mulder like a red-haired lioness in heat. I will rip him to  
shreds and they'll be picking what's left of him off the peeling beige  
wallpaper for days.

"Excuse me?" Mulder squeaks. His hands come up and he holds them in  
the air in the small space between us. Is that fear I smell? You  
better be scared, Mulder...

"I *know* what you're doing to me," I continue, breathing hard and  
heavy as I swing one leg over his hips. Beneath me the mattress  
strains under the combined weight. It's going to have to hold just a  
while longer until I'm through. "Sleep affects almost every physiological  
and psychological process."

"What are you talking about?" he asks. I ignore his attempt at playing  
innocent and straddle his hips with mine. His solid, firm erection  
makes contact with my wet, soft center and I swallow back a gasp. I  
can't let him know he has any kind of effect on me even though I'm  
just as aroused as he is.

"Decreased judgment ability and decision making," I say, grinding  
slowly into him with every word. He lays still, although I know he's  
dying to buck those hips. "Know what they are?"

"No," he answers feebly. All the while, I feel him growing harder and  
harder beneath me. I'm draining all the blood from his big head to his  
little head. Which isn't so little after all judging from the length  
I'm brushing against. He whimpers and shifts his hips around a bit,  
trying to alleviate the pressure caused by his constricting shorts.

I've got him right where I want him. I watch his lower lip tremble  
nervously as a low moan escapes them. His breath is jagged and tense  
as he watches me with wide eyes.

"Symptoms of lack of SLEEP!" I hiss loudly, like some feral cat.  
Mulder winces and covers one ear with the flat of his palm. I rise up  
on my knees to break any sexual tension between us, nails ready to  
claw his tanned arms and chest. I come in for the kill. "You're trying  
to wear me down, aren't you? Make me give in with promises of how good  
it'll be? When was the last time you got any, Mulder? Or can't you  
remember that far back?"

"I *could* have gotten some tonight if I really wanted it," he  
counters, a flash of lightning cutting through the darkness so I can  
see the smug expression on his face. I just want to slap it right off.

"With Detective Cullen?" I say, folding my arms tightly and sitting back on  
his thighs. "I bet she's already done it with everyone in this  
godforsaken town. I bet she's even fucked your Pirate's Ghost."

"You can leave *Tessa* out of it," he counters, using her first name  
just to irritate me. "Besides, you were certainly quick to keep me  
here... weren't you? What are you afraid of, Scully?"

Outside as if on cue, the tornado sirens start up. Blaring their dull,  
flat warning over the hotel. Great. Tornadoes are in the area. With any  
luck, we'll end up in Oz soon. Although I'm sure Mulder and Dorothy  
are probably on a first name basis.

"C'mon, Scully," he prods, fingers crawling up my naked thighs and  
making me ache even more. "Answer the question."

"I'm afraid of... you... uh... embarrassing me professionally by  
screwing the detective assigned to this case," I stammer, completely  
flustered by his touch. It's so slow and deliberate. How far up is he  
going to go? I shudder when his thumbs make contact with my inner  
thighs.

"Nice try, G-woman," Mulder says, with a tiny laugh. He withdraws his  
hands. "You're classic Freud."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I sneer, eagerly waiting his  
psychoanalysis.

Mulder plants his hand firmly on either side of his torso so he can  
push up to a sitting position. The mattress starts to cave in and  
Mulder's hips are sliding with me still on top.

"Everything is about sex," he says, drawing the word out. His face is  
almost level with mine and his breath is hot on my damp skin. A thin  
layer of sweat covers his forehead, neck and bare chest. He digs his  
fingers into the bed. "When was the last time you had it?"

"That's none of your business," I snap, before Mulder loses his  
struggle with the mattress and we both tumble into the sagging center.  
Our positions are reversed and now he's on top. His lips brush my neck  
as he groans into my shoulder.

"C'mon, Larry," cries Joan the nymphomaniac. "Ride me again!"

"No, you ride me, Joan!" screams Larry. He *must* be on Viagra. No man  
can get it up that much in one night.

Mulder's legs ease mine apart and the damn robe is working to his  
advantage by separating in the front. Leaving my naked skin rubbing  
against his naked skin as he lowers his hips into classic missionary  
position. Mulder raises up on his arms and I sink deeper as the  
springs give away even more beneath my buttocks. Gravity pins me  
between Mulder and the bed from Hell. The hot, greedy flames licking  
my insides are proof of its true origins are not Serta or Sealy.

"Let's hear your definition of good sex," Mulder says, with the candor  
of a college professor in Sexuality 101. "Is it what's going on next  
door?"

"That's a good fuck," I clarify, rolling my eyes as the headboard  
thumping starts up again next door. "Good sex isn't just what's going  
on between your legs."

"Could have fooled me. If not, then what is it?" he presses verbally,  
as his erection presses into me. Adrenaline surges and descends to the  
contact point. The tension is almost unbearable, even through the  
layer of heather gray cotton panties and nylon running shorts.

Mulder's eyes travel downward to where my robe has come undone, giving  
him a good view of my heaving breasts as they rise and fall into the  
matching heather gray cotton bra. This bed isn't going to hold out  
much longer. It creaks and creaks as we sink lower and lower. He's not  
going to let me up until I answer him.

"Good sex starts with the mind," I say, my voice thick and husky.  
Mulder thrusts very slowly against my core. "I have to be...  
stimulated there above all else. I need a man who's my intellectual  
equal."

"Someone who can challenge you," he whispers, pulling his hips back  
out and lets them fall back into place. My nails dig into his arms,  
silently imploring him to do it again. "And I know I challenge you,  
Scully. What else?"

"Commitment," I continue, finding it increasingly difficult to form a  
coherent thought. He rubs himself against me again, sending a shock of  
electricity and awakening sensations I haven't felt in ages. "Good sex  
takes a commitment to the relationship."

"The reason I didn't go over to Tessa's is I just didn't *want* to,"  
he breathes, and I let my thighs relax even more around him. "I'm  
committed to you, Scully. Haven't you figured that out by now?" Mulder  
smiles, grinding a small circle to emphasize the point. "I'm two and  
O. What else?"

"Chemistry," I breathe, mentally willing the mattress to stop slipping  
so he can do that little circle thing again. Dear God, I might... I  
might if he keeps this up. I open my hazy eyes as another thunderbolt  
shakes the walls. Joan and Larry just might have some competition.  
"There has to be chemistry that's just there from the start. An  
intuition about the other person's needs. Both physical and  
emotional."

"What about sexual needs?" Mulder asks, as I moan softly. My eyes  
flutter close as he slides back and forth across my folds through the  
cotton. Up and down until he hits a certain bundle of nerves right at  
the top without any kind of direction on my part. He just knows where.  
"An intuition about the other person's sexual needs?"

"Uh," I wet my lower lip and look up at him. "Yeah."

"Yeah?" Mulder asks hopefully, raising an eyebrow zeroing in on that  
spot. Over and over again.

"Yeah," I exhale, wishing I could arch my back. Damn this cheap,  
mite-infested mattress. I close my eyes and pretend we're anywhere  
else but here. And it's hard with the thunder, Joan, Larry and the  
tornado siren to remind me where we really are.

I suck in air and clench my teeth as I start to quiver. Soft at first,  
but enough to know what's about to come. Me. Oh God...

"Scully?" Mulder whispers, but doesn't stop his motions.

"Here it comes, Larry!" cries Joan in ecstasy. "Oh, Larry!"

"Give it up, Joan!" answers Larry. "Give it up!"

My heart beats hard and fast as I pulse in time with it. I squeeze my  
eyes shut, surrendering completely to the sensation. Did I just feel  
the earth move?

"Scully?" Mulder whispers again, louder this time. He stops rocking  
his hips and my eyes snap open to see a look of panic on his face.

"What is it?" I ask, still high on endorphins.

"The... bed... Scully," Mulder says, as I realize why the earth  
is moving. The bed is collapsing. Mulder tries to pull himself up, but  
he can't get a grip on anything. I can't move at all. He can no longer  
support himself. Mulder's arms fold around me as if trying to prevent  
the bed from sucking me into the Netherworld from which it came. But  
instead, it snaps and cracks off the headboard as the frame finally  
gives away with a loud crash.

 

*********

Shit.

We are cursed. Probably by that damn pirate's ghost I insisted we  
chase around. Larry and Joan have been banging away for half a day  
without injury next door but, no... not us. We can't even carry on  
a conversation without the damn world falling apart around us. Yes, it  
was more of a conversation. More like high school kids dry humping through  
their clothes, but after all these years, it felt great.

"Are you okay?" I ask Scully as I try to separate my body from hers.  
Thankfully, the neighbors quieted down. Now we are left with pounding  
thunder and the monotone drone of the civil defense siren. Should we  
be doing something when that goes off like hiding in the bathroom?

"I'm fine," she says but this time I'm not convinced.

I try to roll off of her but every time I move, she moans. I'm  
assuming it isn't the same slight moan of pleasure that escaped her  
throat a few seconds ago. Yes, that was pleasure. This is... most  
certainly pain.

"Mulder... Fox..."

"Mulder..." I say, not quite sure we were intimate enough for her  
to be switching names just yet.

"Mulder, your knee... it's in my..."

"I'm sorry... Scully, your arm..."

"I'm sorry..."

We somehow get out of our game of bed twister and end up standing on  
opposite sides of the debris, staring at each other. I really have no  
idea what to do next. We were getting pretty cozy and I think she  
might have even... reached orgasm? I can't look at Scully and use  
any slang terms with ease. Scully just 'creamed her pants' while I was  
riding her? I don't think so.

"Scully... listen... that was..." I start.

"That was something..." she continues.

"And I'd understand if you... well... were upset."

"I'm not... Mulder, shut up," she says as she comes over the top of  
what was the bed. With her feet planted firmly on what was the  
mattress, her mouth meets mine perfectly. All of a sudden, the only  
siren I am aware of is the one whose tongue is delving into my mouth.  
Sleep deprivation my ass. She wants it no matter how little sleep  
she's had.

We end up moving toward that hairy little couch, her forward motion  
propelling us in that direction. I feel it hit the back of my legs and  
I go down with her on top of me, straddling my hips again. My ass  
sinks into the crack again, and its frame creaks loudly. I only give  
this piece of furniture about an hour before it looks like the bed.

Scully's bee-stung lips don't leave mine and she tastes sweeter than I  
remember. Of course, that kiss lasted exactly eight seconds. This one  
has already gone on for over a minute with no signs of anyone coming  
up for air soon. She tastes of magnolias and sweet tea. She tastes of  
summer days and ocean breezes. She tastes like home but whose home I'm  
not sure. There were no magnolias on the Vineyard that I can remember.

She finally pulls away from me and watches me with eyes that I know  
are bottomless pools of azure. Her lips are pursed as if she is  
seriously considering where this should go next. I have a few ideas  
myself.

"Do you smell a dog?" Scully asks, sniffing the air and killing the  
mood just a little. Like the neighbors, the thunder and the blaring  
siren haven't done enough of that.

"Yeah... a small dog..."

"Like Toto," Scully says, as she closer to me, stroking me through the  
clothes we have on. If it feels this good through cotton and nylon, my  
mind can only barely begin to fathom how it will feel flesh upon  
flesh. Her mouth makes contact with my neck, that tongue darting out  
and tasting me with the same slow precision with which she does  
everything.

My cock stirs mightily in my pants as she moves down my chest, tongue  
swirling around my nipples. I know I moan something but it is drowned  
out by the sound of police sirens going down the road in front of the  
motel. Scully doesn't break her stride.

Her mouth dusts little kisses down my abdomen and she is no longer on  
my lap but is on her knees between my thighs. Now my cock isn't just  
stirring but is practically doing some happy dance at the proximity of  
her face, dying to be released from this material.

She motions for me to lift my hips and I do, feeling the material  
slide down and off around me, leaving me naked before her. Scully's  
eyes widen at the sight of me and a sudden surge of pride rises to my  
chest though I know I have nothing to do with the genetics that  
created it. But it is a man thing.

Before I can even react, her tongue is licking a wet line up the  
underside of my cock, finally focusing on the a tiny area that makes  
me squirm. I want to grab her head and beg for more, but instead, I  
hold onto the fleas on the couch instead. She rises on her knees and  
takes me in her mouth, her lips wrapping tight around me as she slides  
up and down with ease. I can barely keep my ass on the couch and the  
only thing holding me down is the gravity emanating from the crack  
between the cushions.

This is all happening so fast. Scully, my beautiful and professional  
partner, is giving me a blow job and a damn good one at that. Fuck,  
where are the lights when I need them?

Her hand snakes in between my thighs and she fondles my balls, her  
perfectly manicured nails grazing across them gently. She motions for  
me to move my ass off the couch further and I oblige, sliding out of  
the crack as much as I can.

"Oh... Scully..." I moan as her tongue trips lightly across my  
cock and her fingers tickle my balls. I feel everything begin to build  
up inside, a swell needing to be released and I don't want to yet, but  
I don't know how to stop it... think of something fast...

*ring*

Well, not that...

"Igwore wit," Scully mumbles with my cock in her mouth, grazing it  
slightly with her teeth.

*ring*

It's her cell phone. It's within my reach, on the table by this  
couch and I could get it. I've answered her phone before so no one  
would question that. No one would have to know I was in her room with  
her lips wrapped delicately around my cock.

"Scully... oh man..." I moan as her finger slips further back,  
away from my balls toward other places.

*ring*

"Downt answa wit," she tells me again, but I can't help myself. It  
might be important. It might concern this case or the farmers or...  
oh, damn... does that feel good.

*ring*

"ANSWER YOUR DAMN PHONE!" Larry shouts through the wall as if he has  
the fucking right to be disturbed and I grab for it.

"Mulder," I answer, trying to sound like I'm calm and collected.

"Dude! What are you doing answering the delectable Agent Scully's cell  
phone?" Frohike asks, sounding as disappointed that I answered as I am  
going to sound that he called.

"What are you doing calling Agent Scully's cell phone?" I ask, my  
voice pitched several levels higher than usual.

"I've been trying to call yours for the past two hours, man. Did you  
lose it again?" he asks, sounding disappointed in me. I don't have  
time for this now. Can't he hear that in my voice?

"No, I didn't lose anything. Frohike, what do you need?" I ask  
through clenched teeth, trying to maintain some sense of decorum here  
as Scully's mouth and fingers do unspeakable things to me.

"We got back the tests from those cows and it doesn't look good...  
Mulder, I think we are dealing with a classic abduction and mutilation  
scenario here and..."

Blah blah blah blah blah blah... that is what he might has well be  
saying because that is all I can hear right now. Scully is amazing.  
Fucking over the top and down the other side amazing. I don't give a  
shit whether it is because she's a doctor and they teach Fellatio 101  
in medical school or because some former lover of hers taught her the  
ins and outs. I don't care. She's got me in her mouth now and that is  
all that matters.

"... Mulder, these cows are displaying an abnormal amount of..."

Blah blah blah blah blah blah... I should just hang up on him. That  
would be the polite thing to do right now. But he's so into this cow  
shit that I can't. Besides, my fingers aren't working well enough to  
hit the little 'end' button.

"AGENT MULDER? Are you there?" I hear someone shout in my ear and I'm  
brought back to reality for just a second.

"Yeah..."

"Did you hear me, man. These cows might not even be cows. I think they  
are like mandroids... cowdroids... I can't even... "

What in the hell is he rambling on about? Oh, Scully, what are you  
doing to me? The phone drops from my ear and with her free hand,  
Scully hits the power button, turning it off completely. Her other  
hand hits just the right spot and before I can even say prostate...  
before I can even tell her what is going to happen and that she should  
really move, it happens. I come in her perfect mouth.

**********

Shit.

My mouth is instantly filled with something hot, sticky and sweet.  
Mulder's cock spasms rhythmically as he orgasms hard against my  
tongue. Spitting is not an option, so I swallow. Taking it in just as  
fast as he comes. He screams out my name, more in surprise than  
ecstasy as he throws his head back on the couch and empties himself  
into me.

I keep sucking until his spasms stop. With an unintentional pop, I  
break the suction as I withdraw. I wipe the corner of my mouth with  
the sleeve of my robe, still amazed at what just happened. It's been a  
long time since I've performed fellatio and judging from the look on  
Mulder's face, it's like riding a bike. Some skills you don't lose  
with age. Or maybe men just  
don't care how you do it as long as you do.

"Scully," he finally chokes out, voice deep and husky. Mulder lifts  
his head up, then leans forward with his elbows on his knees, making  
him eye level with me. "That... that... was.... just..."

"Unexpected?" I say, holding back my smile. I lick my lower lip clean  
and lean back on my arm.

"I don't normally... that fast," he stammers, glancing at his shrinking  
cock. Even withdrawn, it's still impressive. "He's got more muster  
than that, I swear. I think you just took him by surprise."

He doesn't have to make apologies after what he did to me on the bed.  
I came just as fast. Speaking of, my underwear is still soaked and I  
want them off. I pull myself off the floor and stand up. With one hand  
on his shoulder for support, I slide my panties slowly down with the  
other and toss them on the dog-scented couch. Mulder lets out a little  
gasp at my impromptu striptease.

"I *wanted* to do that," he says, sounding a little disappointed.

"They were getting uncomfortable. Too wet," I reply, settling back  
down on my knees before him. Mulder smiles as his suspicions are  
confirmed. "Yes, Mulder... I did."

"I thought you did," he comments, leaning forward to kiss me. His lips  
part mine as our tongue crash in the middle. I must taste like him  
now, but he doesn't complain. On the contrary, I think it turns him on  
even more. Irrefutable evidence that I, Dana Katherine Scully, just  
gave Fox William Mulder one hell of a blow job.

Between heated kisses, his fingers start picking at the knot holding  
my robe closed. Mulder groans impatiently when it doesn't comply. He  
slides his perfect ass off the couch and gets on his knees to meet me  
on the floor. I slide back a little bit, making Mulder's job of  
undressing me a challenge. Yeah, he's seen it all before, but I  
haven't held onto my morals this long to let him take me easily.

"C'mere, Scully," he exhales into my mouth. His stubble is rough and  
masculine against my fingers as I run my hands down his face, stopping  
to trace that tiny mole on his left cheek. Does he know how damn sexy  
that thing is?

"What about a refractory period?" I ask, pulling my mouth away from his  
and kissing that mole before trailing more kisses cross his cheek. I  
slide one hand down his slick chest and check on his cock. It's still  
in recovery.

"I might need time," Mulder says, finally getting the knot  
on my robe free. "But you don't, do you Scully?"

"No, no I don't, Mulder," I answer huskily. I hope he's thinking what  
I'm thinking.

He slides the robe off my shoulders and it falls in a terrycloth  
puddle over the shag carpet. Moisture and heat once again descends  
southward as I realize what years of shelling sunflower seeds must  
have done to his oral skills.

With one quick snap, Mulder gets my bra off. He locks his lips with  
mine again and leans forward so I have to lean backwards. Falling  
down, down, down until I'm on the floor and Mulder is above me once  
again. His hands run all over my body, his sense of touch making up  
for his lack of sight due to the damn power outage.

"God, you're beautiful," he whispers, as he rearranges my legs so my  
feet are on floor and my knees are up. He kisses the inner thigh of my  
right leg and continues kissing me as he swings that leg over his left  
shoulder as he goes lower.

My hands reach for his head, and I run my fingers through his short,  
cropped hair. I let out one long, satisfied moan as that amazing pouty  
bottom lip come into contact with my folds.

"Where was that spot again?" he whispers, breath hot against me. He  
slips a curious hand into the space between us.

"Nice try, Mulder," I say, stifling another moan as his fingers trace  
the length of my labia. "You're eidetic, remember?"

"Maybe I just wanted to hear you say it," he says, as his presses up  
into that tiny bud of nerves. He starts to move in slow,  
counterclockwise circles. "Do you have any idea how sexy your voice  
is, Scully?"

He wants me to talk dirty? Damn. How am I supposed to compete with all  
those 976 girls he keeps calling?

"Mulder, I'll make everything sound like a medical textbook," I groan,  
arching my back against his fingers. Oh, this feels so good.

"I don't care," he says, as his lips brush my folds again. "C'mon,  
Scully. Let me hear you say it."

I let out a long, exasperated sigh and stare at the funny shadows the  
lightning keeps making on the ceiling. Only Mulder. Only Mulder would  
torture me this way. If I wasn't so damn aroused right now, I'd kill  
him.

"It's there, Mulder," I start, feeling his lips curl back in a smile.  
He's enjoying making me suffer, the son of a bitch. I lower my voice  
to just a whisper. "At the hood of my clitoris."

"It's where?" he asks loudly before kissing me again. "I didn't quite  
catch that, Scully."

"Run your tongue along my outer lips upward to the space where they  
join," I breathe, digging my nails a little harder into his shoulder  
as he follows my instruction. "And that's the hood of my clitoris.  
What you're looking for is underneath."

"Ahhh," he moans, when he reaches that spot. "Hmm?"

"Yes, here," I sigh, interpreting his muffled monosyllabic speech. His  
tongue flits back and forth across the hardened nub and I shudder in  
delight. I'll make him pay for this later.

But dear God, he *is* incredible. Who knew that mouth was good for  
something else besides spouting wild theories about dead cows, dead  
farmers and dead pirates? I writhe in delicious anticipation as he  
works his mouth over me. I slide my left leg over his right shoulder  
and cross my ankles, locking Mulder into place. He lifts my hips up  
slightly as I press my back into the  
shag carpet for leverage and friction.

I wince slightly as the rug cuts into my skin, irritating me as it  
burns. When was the last time this damn carpet was cleaned? Probably  
the same time as the couch. Which would be never.

While his tongue is working wonders on my clitoris, Mulder traces my  
slick opening with one finger. It's been so damn long since anyone has  
touched me there I might still qualify as a virgin by default. It  
would have been great if my first time had been with an 18-year old  
Mulder and not my 18-year old freshman year boyfriend. Mulder would  
have been at his sexual peak at 18.  
Luckily, he'll be around for mine.

I thrash my head from side to side as I start to convulse again. My  
thighs clamp tighter around his face as the orgasm builds to its  
inevitable climax. I am sliding across the carpet as he presses into  
me, encouraging me to come even harder. I release my death-grip on his  
shoulders and dig my nails into the carpet instead. Oh, God... oh  
God... this is amazing.

"Mulder!" I cry out, as wave after wave of pleasure rips through me.  
"Oh, Mulder."

He rides it out with me, never letting his tongue break contact with  
my clitoris until I finally collapse back on the floor. The euphoria  
of one damn good orgasm sweeps over me for the second time tonight.

"I wish I could have seen you come, Scully," Mulder whispers,  
untangling my thighs from around his face.

"I'm sure you felt it. I bet even Larry and Joan felt it," I mumble  
happily, before something tickles the back of my throat. Suddenly, I  
sneeze.

"Gesundheit," Mulder says, attempting to kiss a trail up my stomach. My  
face contorts again and I raise my hands to my face to catch a second  
sneeze. And then a third one.

"Gesundheit, gesundheit," Mulder repeats between kisses. I struggle to  
catch my breath, but I can't. All I can do is roll on my side away  
from him and sneeze five more times in quick succession.

"Scully, are you okay?" Mulder asks, voice full of concern. He tries  
to roll me back over. I curl down in a fetal position as I sneeze four  
more times. "Scully? What's wrong?"

"The... A-CHOO!… car... A-CHOO!... pet!" I blurt out between  
sneezes. He helps me up to a sitting position, hands holding my  
shoulders steady as I sneeze again. "Dust mites, Mulder! I think I'm  
allergic to the... A-CHOO!... dust mites!"

I can't even breathe now. I suck and suck at the air, but all I do is  
sneeze on him.

***************

Shit.

She can't stop sneezing. Now she's even sneezing on me. Scully stops  
long enough for me to wipe a small splash of mucus off of her face  
with the edge of my thumb but then I have no where to go with it.

"Mulder... A-CHOO!... tis... A-CHOO!... sues!" Scully  
says, motioning wildly at the dresser next to us.

I stand up and stumble around in the dark, feeling around for a travel  
box of tissues. By the time I pull some out of the box, she's standing  
beside me, her face all twisted up as she tries to control the next  
onslaught of sneezes. I hand her a pile of them just in time.

"A-CHOO!... thanks... A-CHOO!... sorry," she says. Scully dabs  
the corner of her nose before taking a dry, scratchy tissue and wiping  
my hand clean.

"Don't worry about it. I've stuck my hand into worse things," I say,  
watching her eyebrow arch up. Damn. I just had that particular hand  
stuck in her. "Scully, that's not what I meant... I didn't mean..."

"I know what you meant," she says with a rare Scully smile. I wish she  
would share that smile more often, but it is my fault that she  
doesn't. I made her life what it is. When she first walked through my  
door years ago, she used to smile. But now, it is hard to find  
anything to smile about.

The tissues have been abandoned, relegated to the mite-infested  
carpet, but she is still holding my hand. I feel her fingers move  
across mine, entwining perfectly as if they belong locked with no  
other. Her hands are smooth from all the lotion she uses, but under  
the slickness, I can still feel the slight irritation from so many  
hours wrapped in latex gloves. Her hands do so much but now they are  
made just to hold me.

Scully steps toward me, our bodies coming together, and I feel my cock  
surge between us. I guess he is all set and ready again. It is pressed  
between her firm abdomen and mine as we stand hand in hand, so close  
to each other. Somewhere in the dark, there is music that only the two  
of us can hear, and we sway slowly to it.

I bend forward to kiss her forehead, letting my lips linger upon her  
warm skin. Her hair smells like wild peaches... or mangoes...  
I've never been good with fruits, but she smells sweet. I didn't use  
her shampoo in the shower because... I was busy with... um... other thing,  
but it is probably to cover the smell of six dead cowdroids and two dead farmers.

"I want to make love to you. I have wanted to for years," I whisper,  
slowly walking in perfect time with her toward the dresser. I release  
her hands from mine and lift her so she is sitting on the edge of the  
Kennedy-era piece of furniture, her legs circling around my waist,  
drawing me in.

"How long have you wanted to make love to me?" she asks coyly. Little  
Miss Einstein can be coy. Who would have ever thought it?

"Would you believe me if I said I've wanted this since the first day  
you walked in, reached out your hand and started spouting pure science  
and reason at me"? I ask, telling her the truth. I'm only human after  
all. What man, upon hearing he is going to be assigned a female  
partner, doesn't wonder if she's going to be hot.

"No, I wouldn't believe you, Mulder," she says, leaning her head back  
against the old mirror behind us. I can tell she is thinking about  
that day, playing the moment that changed everything over and over in  
her mind. "I couldn't even put together an outfit that matched."

"Yes, it was before you discovered the basic tenet that black always  
matches black -- but trust me, you were hot," I say, stroking my erect  
cock against her wet folds until I find the right spot. She lifts her  
head up off that mirror, all thoughts of the past gone. I thrust up  
against her one more time, so warm and so wet, and I can't wait to be  
inside.

"You weren't so bad yourself... those glasses. You should have  
never taken them off, Mulder. With those on... oh, yeah... I  
would have done you years ago," she says, moaning as I hit the right  
spot one more time.

"I will just have to find them," I say, wondering where in the hell  
they might be. If they will get her into bed over and over, I'll  
staple them to my head.

Scully adjusts herself just a little and with one quick stroke, I  
nudge my way into her body. She lets out a quick huff of air and if I  
didn't believe in heaven before, I might have to start now. She is hot  
and tight as I edge in more, going in as slow as I can without going  
insane. I've done that once this calendar year and this time the  
results might not be so pleasant.

Her hands are on my shoulders and I can feel her nails dig into my flesh,  
so I ease up on my force of penetration.

"Are you okay?" I ask, allowing her body to adjust to mine. I know in  
my heart of hearts that it hasn't been as long for her as it has been  
for me, but anatomy is anatomy. She shuts her eyes briefly and nods  
her head 'yes' but I don't want to pressure her. "We can stop."

"I'm fine. It's been a while," she says, opening her crystal eyes and  
looking at me again. As if to prove the truth behind what she is  
saying, she bucks her hips in my direction, urging me on. "I want this  
more than you can imagine."

I wrap my hands around her tiny waist as she locks her ankles tighter  
around my back, holding me with living ropes. That is when I notice I  
can watch myself in the mirror. I can act like I'm watching her but  
really be looking at myself while fucking. Oh, this is too good.

Scully now seems to be focused on where our bodies are joined,  
watching me slip in and out of her with increasing speed. She'll never  
notice that I'm watching me and not her. I am barely aware that her  
one hand has left my shoulder and is now between us, circling around  
her clit like a little airplane circling a landing strip. Now I am  
truly torn. Watch me or watch Scully get herself off. It is a tough  
decision...

"Mulder?" Scully asks, her voice sharp. The hand that isn't touching  
herself is adjusting the position of my face so I'm looking directly  
at her.

"Hmm?" I ask, understandable speech quite a thing of the past by this  
point.

"Look at me, Mulder," she demands, not letting my face go. Damn. I get  
to have sex for the first time in half a decade and I can't even watch  
myself doing it. How am I ever going to believe it happened if I can't  
see it?

"Okay," I say, and she finally releases me from her death grip. As if  
in warning, that hand rests on my shoulder, her nails precariously  
close to sinking in too deep.

The world seems to be a sudden blur of sensations. I can't separate  
the tornado siren from the thunder anymore as we continue to band into  
each other. Lightning flashes, but I'm not sure if it is in the sky or  
the fields of my mind. Since it lights up Scully's face, it must be  
the sky.

Scully rocks beneath me, changing her position so she can access  
herself better. I finally look away from her face and down to see what  
she is doing. A sudden burst of white light flashes across the room  
and it shows me one thing. Scully is not a natural redhead. Oh, who  
the hell cares at this point. But it also shows me she's a woman who  
knows how to take care of herself.

With the intensity and vigor of an unexpected hurricane roaring up the  
coast, Scully comes underneath me, both her hands flying up to my  
shoulders and her nails really digging in this time. Her muscles quake  
around me, constricting and pulling me in. It takes everything I've  
got not to come with her, but I want to watch her this time. Not that  
we have a hell of a lot of light, but we have enough. Her eyes slam  
shut and her mouth forms an O of pleasured delight. I stop moving just  
to enjoy the show.

She opens one eye to look at me.

"If I'm not mistaken, the score is now 3 to 1," I say with a smile,  
pushing into her gently.

"But who's counting, right?" she asks, trying to catch her breath.

"Oh, but someone has to count," I add, thrusting harder again, knowing  
we are going to be at 3 to 2 in just a few seconds.

She allows me to slam into her with everything I've got and before I  
know it, my world turns into a blinding bright ball of light. I come  
into her body... again... releasing everything I've got until  
there's nothing left. And as bright as it all was a second ago is how  
dark it is now.

I pull out of her, everything wet and still pulsing and thrumming. I  
rest my head upon her breasts, listening to heart pound. She wraps me  
in her arms and everything is right now. Nothing could go wrong.

Gentle, wet drops fall down upon the back of my neck and slip across  
my face.

Scully is crying?

"Scully, what's the matter... "

*Ka-thlump*

Well, that certainly wasn't the gentle shedding of a tear drop by a  
new lover.

No, that was wet, moldy plaster.

************

Shit.

Mulder and I look up at the ceiling, which is now sagging with water.  
We watch as another patch of plaster detaches itself and lands in a  
wet heap on the carpet beside his foot. Mulder starts to laugh because  
that's all there is to do at this point. It's a rare sound, his  
laugh... and one I could get  
used to hearing a lot more often.

"Fuck," he mutters, as he dodges another clump. "The roof must be  
leaking."

His laughter is infectious and now I'm laughing too. As uncontrollably  
as my sneezes were.

Mulder stops and stares at me as if my laughter is a rare sound as  
well. I suppose it is. He probably thought the wet drops on his face  
were my tears over finally consummating our relationship. But I don't  
regret it one bit. It was an absolutely, one hundred percent  
mind-blowing experience and I'm still high as a kite over it. I forgot  
when defining good sex that it should also be fun, not filled with  
angst and guilt. He puts on an air of mock indignation as I continue  
giggling like a schoolgirl.

"That better not be a reflection of my sexual prowess, Scully," he  
whispers, kissing my suprasternal notch where my clavicles meet. He  
knows all my erogenous zones already, he must still have some residual  
psychic abilities left after all.

"Believe me," I say, letting my laughter die off into a throaty sigh  
of pleasure. I tilt my head to the side and relish the feel of his  
lips on my skin. "It's not. It's just this damn place. I'm beginning  
to believe your Pirate Ghost has it in for us."

"I sorry about tonight," Mulder murmurs, as his tongue swirls around  
one erect nipple. "This isn't how I imagined this night at all. And  
believe me... I've imagined it a *million* different ways. But never  
once did it include power outages, tornado sirens..."

"And 'C'mon, Larry, ride me again,'" I quote, raising an eyebrow.

"'No, you ride me, Joan,'" Mulder paraphrases, lifting his head and  
smiling.

Another spark of lightning illuminates his face and I fall into the  
depths of his hazel eyes. The darkness normally shadowing them has  
been lifted, replaced by something bright and wondrous and beautiful.  
Happiness. He's just as happy we did this as I am.

"You were right, Mulder," I say, with complete conviction. I raise my  
hand up and lay it on his cheek, running my thumb over his lips. "I've  
never been with the right person before."

Those eyes shine brighter now and I hope what I'm seeing in them is  
merely a reflection of what he's seeing in mine.

"Are you saying... after all this time..." Mulder teases, shifting me  
to the left to avoid more plaster as it comes splashing down. "You believe one of  
my theories?"

"Don't get cocky, Mulder," I quip, suppressing a smile at the double  
meaning.

"Too late, Scully," he muses, glancing down at his member.

The thunder shakes the walls as he lowers his head to my other nipple.  
My head falls back against the mirror as I give myself over to his  
ministrations. His shoulders and arms are covered in scratches from my  
nails, the marks of his lover. I smile, happy with my new designation.  
We are now partners in every definition of the word. I suppose I should  
agonize over how this will effect our working relationship but why  
should I? The world didn't end this time either.

*Ka-thlump*

I look up at gaping hole in the ceiling. The plaster lost its fight  
against the water and now there is a steady stream pouring in and onto  
the mite-infested carpet. Okay. Maybe the world is ending. I hope  
Mulder knows how to make an ark.

*Knock*

Mulder's head snaps back up as we both glare at the door.

The polite knock is replaced by a series of loud banging that seems  
strangely familiar in its rhythm.

Like the cell phone, we wait patiently for it to stop. Like the cell  
phone, it doesn't.

"I know you're in there," bellows Larry. "Quit your damn laughing!  
People are trying to sleep next door!"

"That son of a bitch," groans Mulder, resting his forehead on my  
stomach in defeat.

"Let it go," I say, running my fingers through his hair. I lower my  
lips to kiss the crown of his head. Mulder stands up and looking in  
the direction of the door as a smirk curls the corners of his mouth.

"Has the Viagra worn off, Larry?" Mulder shouts back, winking at me.  
"Cause people are trying to sleep over here too!"

"Hey pal," Larry snaps, ignoring Mulder. "We've got to drive to  
Florida in the morning and would appreciate it if you and your  
girlfriend would keep it quiet, huh?"

I have to bite my lower lip to keep from laughing again.

"He's got some balls saying that to us, doesn't he?" Mulder whispers  
and I can't hold in my laughter.

"He certainly does," I choke out, trying to quiet down. But I can't.  
"Just ask Joan."

All this additional laughter must be pissing Larry off even more. He  
starts pounding on the door.

"We'll try," Mulder calls out, between burst of his own laughter.  
Finally, Larry gives up and goes away.

"Viagra. Definitely must be Viagra," I say, holding my aching sides.

"You think?" Mulder asks playfully. His bare feet squish against the  
wet carpet. "He could be their new poster boy instead of Bob Dole."

He leans his face into mine and kisses me quiet, laughter subsiding  
with every touch of his lips until we are once again struggling for  
air. My hands wander down his flat stomach and I am pleasantly  
surprised to find Larry isn't the only one who's gotten riled up.

I wrap my fingers around his shaft, rotating my thumb so it can work  
against his head. I dip into the little 'v' and back out again, proof  
of a Jewish upbringing he has long since abandoned. All the while,  
that damn steady stream of water keeps saturating the carpet. I'm  
afraid the entire ceiling might collapse. We have to get out of here.

"I have an idea, Mulder," I whisper seductively between kisses.

"You do?" he asks, anticipating more of my lip service. But instead, I  
withdraw my hand. He groans as I slide off the dresser and onto the  
wet carpet.

"Follow me," I say, heading for the adjacent door. I reach for the  
knob, hoping we can shimmy the lock or something and get to the safety  
of his room where we aren't sharing a wall with Larry and Joan, the  
bed is in one piece and the ceiling is still intact.

"Wait, Scully," he says quickly. He rushes to catch my hand before I  
make contact with the knob. He positions me so my palms are splayed  
flat on the door instead.

"What are you doing, Mulder?" I ask, and he presses his body against  
my back. Mulder moves my knees apart spread eagle as if he's going to  
frisk me.

"Hands where I can see them. If you move them, I'm going to stop," he  
threatens, voice hot in my ear. My heart begins to pound at his sudden  
impulsiveness. I lay my cheek against door and watch him out of the  
corner of my eye.

"Stop what?" I breathe, wondering what he's going to do.

"This," he says, sweeping the hair off my shoulder and exposing the  
nape of my neck. He lowers his lips to that sensitive area, feathering  
soft angel kisses everywhere. "I've still got a little time to kill before he's ready again."

"Not much," I moan, feeling the growing hardness. Mulder drops to his  
knees and runs that pouty lower lip down my spine, making me shudder  
with delight. "Can't we finish this is your room? In your bed?"

My nails scrape down the wood as I try to reach the knob. Again he  
stops me.

"Don't make me handcuff you, Scully," Mulder warns, standing up and  
pressing himself into my buttocks. He lifts my arms by the elbows and  
moves them higher again.

"I don't carry handcuffs, Mulder," I remind him.

"Too bad," he teases, kissing my shoulder. He slips himself between my  
thighs, teasing me further by brushing himself along my folds. I  
forget all about his bed right now. I don't think I can wait that  
long. I arch my back and lift my hips, inviting him to take me again.

I gasp as he does just that, the difference in our height making for  
the perfect leverage. I lean into the door as he slips in and out of  
me, stimulating a whole new set of nerves from this angle. Deep,  
wordless sounds fill the room as we make love one again. We must be  
made to fit together. I close my eyes and let the emotions sweep over  
me, taking control of both my mind and my heart.

"Mulder," I exhale, the words slipping off my tongue just as quickly  
as they form in my mind. "I love you."

*********

Sh . . shit.

Did she just say what I think she said? I'm sure she did. I know she  
did. Suddenly, what we are doing doesn't matter anymore and I slip out  
of her. I spin her around so she's facing me and I'm speechless. Yeah.  
Me.

"Did you hear me? I love you, Mulder," she says again, just a little  
louder this time, in case I missed it the first time. I didn't. I  
couldn't have. Not even with the thunder. Not even through the sirens  
blaring.

"I heard you," I say, pulling her to me, encircling her in my arms and  
holding her tight. "I love you, too, Scully.

We stand like that, rocking in rhythm to the rain and plaster  
splashing down next to us. I have no idea how they will ever get that  
off of the shag carpet. I don't care just as long as they don't charge  
my credit card for it. I'm still paying the FBI back for one small  
trip to the ends of the earth and for a snow cat rental. Right at the  
moment, it is worth every penny that will be garnished out of my wages  
until 2034.

Her leg comes up around me, and I lift her, pressing her back to the  
door. Now she can wrap both legs around my waist as I sink into her  
again. She is warm and soft and she feels as comfortable as home. It  
is as if we've been together forever yet everything is new.

Scully's arms cling tight around my neck as I thrust into her again  
and again. I can't believe this is what I convinced myself I couldn't  
have for all these years... it has been so close and I've been to  
scared to make the move. Instead, I've relegated myself to nights of  
cold leftover Chinese food, hours of stale porn and sleepless nights  
of playing Quake III and Star Fleet Command.

"Tell me why you love me?" I ask, looking at her beautiful face  
covered with pleasure. I don't know why I asked. I guess some part of  
me is unsure as to why she would be with me. I know I'm not  
undesirable, but why now?

"Mulder..." she nearly purrs, trying to get out of this, but I  
won't let her.

"You tell me and I'll tell you," I whisper to her as I slow my thrusts  
down. I could spend hours like this just to make up for the lost  
years. We *will* be making up for lost time. I think both of us are  
owned a few weeks of vacation.

"You'll tell me why you love you? I think I know," she jokes, smiling  
as I push her closer to the door for better leverage.

"I'll tell you why I love you..."

"I... I just..." she starts to say, shutting her eyes as I  
thrust into her harder. Her tongue rests lightly on the corner of her  
mouth as she thinks for a moment, searching carefully for the right  
words. Even now, as we are joined in the most intimate way possible,  
she's still so Scully. "I love you because... I do."

She opens her eyes and looks at me. It is the most heartfelt and  
honest thing I've ever heard. Her one hand leaves its place from my  
shoulder and goes to rest on my cheek. Everything before now doesn't  
matter. This is it. Life has begun again right now.

Words are unnecessary; this moment transcends anything that could be  
said by either of us. All I know is this: she is it for the rest of my  
life. There will be no other. Yeah, I've known this for a while now. I  
may look, but forget touching. Scully is everything. The stars. The  
moon. They sky. The ocean.

A few more thrusts and I know it will be all over. Soon, this night  
will be over, too, and we are going to have to go back to D.C. and  
back to a different reality. One that doesn't embody Larry and Joan  
and dust mites and tornado sirens. Instead, it will be a world where I  
will have to let Scully walk into danger just like I have always done  
knowing that something could happen to her. Will I be able to do it? I  
will have to. She lets me go. I will have to let her go.

Scully urges me closer with her legs, her muscular thighs gripping me  
tightly around my waist. Her inner muscles also constrict around me,  
taking me to the very edge of control.

Her head rolls back against the door as I press into her body one more  
time, finally spilling everything into her. My body throbs against  
hers and I pant for air. She is silent. All I can feel is her warm  
hand ever present against my cheek.

Right then the power comes back on and we both jump as something  
starts thumping its way across the floor. Scully struggles to look and  
I turn around, still holding her, legs still wrapped around my waist.

"Damn. The bed had Magic Fingers," she pouts, sounding rather like a  
disappointed five year old with no quarters and we both start  
laughing.

I gently set her down and she goes to the bathroom to get a towel to  
clean up the mess we've made, wiping the moisture from her thighs.  
Actually, she comes back with a handful of gray, dingy towels and  
throws some down on the floor under the plaster puddle that is getting  
deeper.

"Should we try getting in your room now? It has to be drier over  
there. These locks can't be that hard to... " she says, opening her  
door and finding mine standing wide open on the other side. "MULDER?"

"Um... I don't remember leaving... um... it open."

************

Shit.

I'm going to beat the living shit out of him.

"Your door was OPEN the entire time?" I demand, my voice cracking as  
it escalates in pitch.

"I... guess... so," he mutters, rushing over to it. He inspects  
the hinges thoughtfully, avoiding my icy stare. "Maybe it was the  
Pirate's Ghost?"

I pick up one of the damp plaster towels and throw it at him as hard  
as I can. I don't believe it. I grab another towel and nail Mulder  
right in the face.

"Scully, wait," he stammers, holding his arms up to avoid another  
assault. Behind us, the bed keeps jerking up and down until finally it  
fizzles out. "Please, let me explain..."

"I don't want to hear your explanations, Mulder," I hiss, coming  
closer and smacking again. He tries to catch the other end of the  
towel to stop my assault. Finally, he does. Now, it becomes a tug of  
war and the towel is so threadbare it starts to tear from the tension.

"Scully, hear me out..." Mulder continues, and the towel finally  
rips. He gets a hold of my wrists and we wrestle against each other  
until we both tumble into his room. He lands on his back and I quickly  
get up, straddling him hard with my thighs.

"You mean to tell me we could have been in your room this entire  
time?" I breathe, panting hard from the struggle.

"No, I'm saying I didn't know..." Mulder stutters, then he stops to  
stare at me. The proverbial light goes off above his head. "Wait. What  
did you just say?"

A sly smile spread across my face as I pull my hands free of his. I  
let my breasts rub against his chest as I dip my face down to his. "I  
said... *we* could have been in your room this entire time?"

"We?" he squeaks out. His hands slide up my buttocks and back, palms  
flat as he presses my body against his.

"Yes, we," I clarify, parting my lips and covering his mouth with  
mine. My tongue slides over his to deepen the kiss.

"Scully..." he exhales happily. "You had me. Big time."

"And I'll have you again," I say, folding my hands on his chest and  
resting my chin on them. I study his face thoughtfully as he smiles up  
at me, his eyes fluttering close from sheer exhaustion.

"In the morning," he pleads, raising his hands up in surrender. "The  
little guy is worn out."

"In the morning," I agree, granting him his reprieve. Mulder's lips  
curl back even more in knowing that I plan to pick this up right where  
we left off in the morning. But right now, I want to get cleaned up.  
We are both sticky, wet and sweaty from our marathon of lovemaking.  
"Think there's enough hot water for bath?"

"You're finally going to draw me a bath?" Mulder asks, looking over at  
the bathroom eagerly. "Damn. I bet there isn't enough. I used it up  
earlier."

"How about a shower then?" I suggest, anxious to feel Mulder's soapy  
hands over my body. I grind myself onto his cock as an incentive.  
"Think there's enough for a quick one?"

"A quick shower... yes," he clarifies, as I let him up off the  
floor. "And maybe a quick something else if you promise to scrub  
behind your ears."

He follows me into the bathroom and starts the shower. There is barely  
enough room for the both of us in the tiny stall. The pipes shake as  
he switches the water flow to the shower head. There is absolutely no  
water pressure and it trickles out in a thin stream over Mulder's  
shoulders. Does nothing work in this damn motel?

Mulder gathers me in his arms and sets me on the wide soap ledge on  
the back wall of the shower. He picks up a dingy washcloth and holds  
it under the water. He then lathers it up with the tiny bar of Ivory  
soap.

"I guess we'll have to settle for a sponge bath," he says, easing my  
knees apart.

He runs the washcloth over my nether regions, cleaning himself off me.  
His touch is so reverent and gentle that I'm overwhelmed by his  
sensitivity. Mulder's a romantic after all. I tilt my head to the side  
and nearly drift into sleep under his ministrations. I feel so safe  
with Mulder, so relaxed and so comfortable with him this way. I wonder  
if it's too late to take him up on that marriage proposal...

His lips brush across my cheek, nuzzling me back awake. "Still with  
me, Scully?"

"Always," I breathe, opening my eyes to find him staring at me. "I'll  
always be with you, Mulder."

The sound of my words echo off the walls as we kiss one final time  
before the pipes shake some more. Then, the shower stops working all  
together.

"We're out of water," Mulder mutters, rolling his eyes at our latest  
misfortune. "Figures."

"It's been one hell of a night, hasn't it?" I ask, taking his face in  
my hands.

"Best damn night of my life," he says, wrapping his arms around my  
waist. I wrap mine around his neck and slide off the ledge and into  
his arms.

"Mine, too," I agree wholeheartedly. I kiss a trail to his ear, then  
whisper, "Let's go to bed, Mulder."

"Thought you'd never ask," he smiles.

**********

Gulfport, Mississippi  
6:15 a.m.

Shit.

Who the hell is banging on the door at this hour? Can't they read the  
'No Vacancy - We're Closed' sign? I have got to scrape that damn 24  
hour crap off the window one of these days.

I wrap my robe around me and put out my cigarette, trying to look  
presentable. I open the office door to find those damn FBI agents  
standing in the threshold looking like the Feds they are. At least she  
isn't wearing the mandatory Fed suit under the mandatory Fed trench  
coat.

"We'd like to check out," the man announces. With a smirk, he holds up  
two room keys.

"You've got reservations until Saturday," I remind him, hacking back  
my cough. "What's the matter? Did the storm keep you up all night?"

"No," the woman answers, pressing her lips tightly together like she's  
trying not to smirk. She mutters under her breath. "Something else  
kept me up all night."

"Larry and Joan?" I ask, smirking right back at them.

"You know about Larry and Joan?" the man asks, leaning on the counter  
to watch me as I punch their room numbers into the computer. I smack  
the monitor impatiently. Damn Commodore 64s.

"Yeah," I reply, watching his name print out on the bill. Fox Mulder.  
That's his name? Who the hell would name a kid, Fox? I wonder what  
else his parents did to him? "I get complaints about them all the  
time. Hope it didn't detract from the..." What the hell is that word?  
Oh yeah. "...Am-bi-ance."

"Uh, no," Fox Mulder replies, in that monotone voice of his.

"Hey, honey," I call out to the woman. She narrows her eyes at me. "I  
gave you adjacent rooms, didn't I?"

"You did," she answers curtly. Her name squeals out next against the  
printer ribbon. Dana Scully. What a looker she is. That Fox is one  
lucky guy to be working next to that all day. She even smells good.  
Strawberries or something.

"Okay," I say, tearing off my copy of the invoice. "You want me to  
leave this on your charge?"

"No," Fox Mulder snaps quickly. He pulls out his wallet and slaps down  
two Ben Franklins. The cost of three nights instead of just one. He  
takes the invoices from me and before I can yell at his cheeky ass, he  
folds them into the pocket of his trench. "Cash. I'm over my limit on  
the company card."

"Uh-huh," I say, suspecting something isn't right here. But the two  
Ben Franklins smiling up at me are incentives to make me forget about  
it. "Nice doing business with you."

Fox Mulder smiles and pats his pocket down. "Thanks."

"Hey, can I put you on our mailing list?" I ask dryly, patting the  
Commodore.

They both look at each other, then back at me.

"No," they answer in unison.

He holds the door open for her, then rests his hand on the small of  
her back as he leads her out. That hand lingers there all the way out  
to their fancy rental car as he digs something out of his pocket with  
the other hand and sticks it in his mouth.

"Yeah, they're doing it," I mutter under my breath. After fifteen  
years in the motel business, I kind of have 'sex radar' where my  
guests are concerned. Probably been going at it on Uncle Sam's dime  
for years now. And from the way they were looking at each other, it  
must have been pretty damn good.

Ben and Ben keep looking at me. I'm sure this didn't come out of some  
cash advance. Over his limit, my ass. The government likes to charge  
and rack up debt. There must be some reason he didn't want me put it  
on his credit card.

I wait until they are out of the parking lot and down Gulfview Drive.  
I pick up their keys, deciding to do a little "investigating" of my own.

I light up another cigarette as I head out the door and to their  
rooms. Hers is closer, so I head for it first. I shove the key in the  
door and push it open.

My cigarette drops out of my mouth as I survey the room. The luxury  
Magic Fingers bed is broken, the carpet is drenched and there's a  
gaping hole in the ceiling where water is still pouring in...

"Shit..." is all I can say.

 

The End

*******


End file.
